


The Thistle and the Lily

by silverr



Category: Original Work
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22480048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: In which a teacher instructs her class on ancient history, and explains how an action meant as an insult — sending a nameless girl as a suitor for a princess — had consequences that eventually rippled across every kingdom in the land.
Relationships: Female Suitor Sent As An Insult To Ruling Monarchs/Princess Uninterested In Male Suitors, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	The Thistle and the Lily

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiegaladheon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/gifts).



> This story rolls together three prompts, more or less in order: _Female Suitor Sent As An Insult To Ruling Monarchs / Princess Uninterested In Male Suitors; Sensible Royal Guardswoman / Arrogant But Skilled Court Sorceress;_ and _Head of the Royal Guard / Queen._

.

.

##  _Part 1_

_._

> ~
> 
> Yes, you in the back? You have a question?
> 
> Why are there two flowers on our national crest instead of the Great Tree? A very good question. The answer, as the poets say, is a story that began with cruelty, and ended with love.
> 
> ~

Long long ago, before the Peace, before the Revelations and the Rift, nearly all of our kingdoms were ruled by a King and Queen working together as a wedded pair. Although historically there had been exceptions — solitary monarchs, non-wedded partnerships, plural communion, rule by council — the traditional arrangement was considered the norm, as most often each kingdom's royal line would be carried forth by their descendants.

Princess Amara of Kyraxos — her given name was Amaryllis, but this was used only rarely, in formal documents or when her parents were trying to be extra stern — was not yet of an age to be married, but the king and queen, being in their middle years, felt that it was best to begin the search for their daughter's future spouse while Amara was young. First, it would allow potential suitors to acclimate to Kyraxos. Second, it would provide sufficient time for each suitor to be evaluated as a possible future king. Finally, it would also make it possible for the princess and the candidates to get to know each other, and, once the selection was made, for Amara and her betrothed to form a strong bond long before they would be called upon to rule. 

And so Kyraxos sent out a proclamation to all the other kingdoms. (Then, as now, marriages were sometimes a pretext to forge new alliances and resolve differences.) Twelve potential suitors presented themselves. 

All twelve were well-educated, well-mannered, healthy young adolescents from noble houses, but none were judged suitable. Two were rejected as obvious pawns in a play for control of Kyraxos' vast forests and rich mines. Four others with barely concealed disinterest in Amara seemed to have been sent as simple gestures of goodwill: they, along with the two pawns, were offered the opportunity of enjoying Kyraxos' cultural atmosphere and excellent schools and academies until such time as they got bored and wanted to go home. The seventh suitor was revealed as a newly-minted spy: for him, there were special classes with tutors full of misinformation. The remaining five boys, though otherwise suitable in the eyes of the king and queen, were rejected by Amara herself for one reason or another. One bragged too much, another was dull; the third was humorless, the fourth too forward ( _he_ was sent home at once), and the fifth lacked imagination.

"Should I not choose someone with whom I can imagine spending the rest of my life?" Amara had asked. She even began to joke that she could be her own spouse. "I can be both king and queen, for no one can please me as much I please myself," she said. 

Initially such comments had made the king and queen laugh and smile indulgently, for Amara was in all other respects an ideal daughter. They had faith that, sooner or later, she would make a choice, and so allowed her to pursue what studies interested her. And, other than betrothal, what did _not_ interest her? Amara was not only an avid student of her required classes in history, geography, politics, mathematics, logic, diplomacy, equitation, and deportment, she also pursued alchemy, medicine, and esoteric languages. As she became more and more accomplished, her fame spread and suitors from ever more distant nations appeared. Although she befriended every rejected suitor who chose to stay in Kyraxos, she always found some flaw she said she could not live with in a husband or a king.

Now, it was during this time that Kaddic, the self-proclaimed Hero of Bloodspire, was beginning to consolidate his power in the lowlands of the Matala Basin. Kaddic made clear his contempt for any kingdom that honored what he called "the misguided practice" of treating women as equals, and thus swelled his settlements and forces with those as angry and hate-filled as himself. 

So it was with some surprise that, several weeks after Amara's fifteenth birthday, a wagon with a prison cage arrived at the Great East Gate with a message from Kaddic. The driver of the wagon, an uncouth-looking sort according to the guards on duty, handed over a scroll claiming the wagon's "passenger" had been sent as a suitor for Princess Amara's hand. 

As the guards stared open-mouthed, the driver then unlocked the cage door, yanked out a beardless, shoeless, badly-shorn youth in loose tattered clothing, gave him a vicious shove that knocked him off his feet and into the ditch at the side of the road, then laughed and drove off.

The youth thanked the guards as they helped him up, and asked for directions to the public boardings. 

> ~
> 
> Ah, so you've all heard this story? Well then, would you prefer to finish telling it, or shall I?
> 
> As I was saying, the youth made his way to the boardings to bathe and receive fresh clothing, and there revealed himself to be a maiden. By the time the maiden had washed and dressed herself, a richly-dressed steward accompanied by two guards had arrived to escort her to meet the king and queen.
> 
> ~

"I am Saata," the steward said. "Welcome to Kyraxos."

The maiden bowed. "Thank you."

Saata asked delicately, "And your name is?"

"I have not yet earned a name."

"I see." Saata looked thoughtful. "Was the one who brought you here aware that you were not a boy?" 

"Yes." The maiden brought up a hand to touch her short brown hair, still damp from washing — it had been cut without care, so unevenly that it stood up in tufts and spikes — and as she did so her sleeve fell back to reveal a fading bruise. 

"Did you come here willingly?" Saata asked.

The maiden hurriedly lowered her arm and tugged down her sleeve. "It was what I was given to do," she said at last.

> ~
> 
> Now imagine, if you can, the scene as this maiden, dressed in drab borrowed trousers and tunic, entered the throne room. The hall was filled with light and beauty. All around her were people dressed in bright, fancifully embroidered clothing, who looked at her with kind but undisguised curiosity. Compared to them, she was a clump of faded winter grass in the midst of wildflowers…
> 
> What? Oh, yes, you could also say she was a thistle among lilies. Very clever of you to make that connection and jump to the end of the story so quickly.
> 
> ~

Saata discreetly guided her toward the far end of the room, where an elegantly-dressed couple sat in ornate chairs on a low dais. Their heads were bent over the scroll the prison wagon driver had delivered, and so, without being told, the maiden knew that they must be the king and queen, and the young woman standing between and behind their chairs was the princess, Amaryllis. 

The princess, in a flame-colored gown edged with pale green at the hem and sleeves, was, to the maiden's eyes, as dramatically stunning as her namesake flower. The princess' face was framed by loose reddish-bronze hair, but it was her dark eyes, sparking with undisguised curiosity and mischief, that truly struck the maiden's heart. 

"Welcome to Kyraxos," the queen said as the murmuring chatter of the court stopped.

"Is it true," the king asked, "that you have no name? Or is it simply that you are forbidden by custom to reveal it to outsiders?"

"No, your highness," the maiden replied. "If I had a name, I would gladly share it with you."

As the king leaned toward the queen, murmuring, Amara asked, "Why not just give yourself one? Even if it's only a secret name?" When the maiden shook her head, Amara added, "Well then, _I_ can name you, if you like. According to _our_ customs."

The short-haired maiden blushed and dipped her head. "I would be honored."

"I'm thinking Daalia," Amara said, patting the top of her head, "on account of your hai, but if you don't like that, I can come up with something else."

"Dandelion?" the maiden suggested with a shy smile.

The princess smiled back and shook her head. "No, no, you wouldn't want that! Just imagine, a strong wind in late summer and you'd be bald!"

The maiden brought her hand up to touch her hair again, but now her smile was broader. "I like the sound of Daalia."

"Would you like to stay here, Daalia," the queen asked, "or would you rather return to your home?"

"We can't send her back," Amara said fiercely. "If we do, Kaddic will either think he succeeded in offending us, or punish her for failing to be sufficiently insulting!" She turned to Daalia. "Am I right?"

Daalia dropped her eyes and nodded.

"Then you are welcome to stay," the king said. "From this day forward, if you wish you may join our other guests in the classroom and the training yard."

> ~
> 
> That was the start of it, you see, but far from the finish of it.
> 
> ~

Never before had Amara felt this wild, joyous, bursting sensation of rightness, of epiphany. It was like opening a small dusty door and discovering an entirely new country beyond the lintel.

As soon as Daalia, _her_ Daalia, had been whisked away from the throne room to the housing reserved for diplomatic guests, Amara bent low over her parents and clasped their hands. "I'll marry _her!"_ she had whispered, shaking with exhilaration. "It'll deflect what Kaddic intended as an insult!"

"Amaryllis," the queen had said quietly, keeping her voice low, "that's not feasible."

"Why not? Queen Mahtava had a wife after the king died!"

With a look at the king, the queen gestured that they should continue the conversation privately, in a side room away from the ears of the court.

"Mahtava had borne children by the time she remarried," the king said after he closed the door. 

"At the very least," the queen said, "you will need a husband long enough to conceive a royal heir. You cannot do that on your own."

Amara frowned. "Conception takes a wisp of matter and a few seconds! It is not a requisite for parenthood! And what about Virgin Queen Ruaha? She named a war orphan as her successor! Daalia and I could do the same!"

"Oh, Amaryllis," the queen sighed.

"That may be true," the king said, "but I assume you also remember that, because of the break in the line of succession, Ruaha's reign was lashed by hostile nations and civil strife for years?"

Defeated by the lessons of history, stung that her budding infatuation had been so cruelly crushed even before it had fully emerged, Amara ran to her rooms in the eastern tower, where she raged and sobbed and would not be comforted.

Days went by, but then, just when the king and queen had begun to despair that they would lose her forever, she had emerged from her room with dry eyes and a steady chin. She sat beside her parents once more, and said no more about marriage or Daalia. 

Relieved, the king and queen thought that was the end of it. "They'll see each other at festivals," the king said, "and their paths might cross by accident now and again, but they will move in different spheres." 

"Yes," the queen said. "Without contact, such youthful infatuations always fade in time."

> ~
> 
> Dismaying, isn't it, how often parents misjudge or underestimate their children?
> 
> ~

Amara knew three things: first, that there was no one for her but Daalia; second, that Daalia loved her as well; and third, that the king and queen would not truly stand in the way if their daughter found happiness with a commoner. For example, Amara was certain that if Daalia approached the king and queen, confessed her love, and requested to see Amara, they would not refuse, but she also suspected that Daalia was too cowed by her oppressive upbringing to act so fearlessly.

Clearly, it was up to Amara to provide the initiative and the momentum.

At the next midseason festival, when Amara saw Daalia in the line of the twirling dance, she joined the line. It was not out of the ordinary for her to do so; she had danced every year since she was tall enough to reach a partner's waist.

After dozens of partners, they finally faced each other. "Are you well?" was all she could manage as they bowed. "Your hair is still short." 

"Easy to take care of this way," Daalia said as they slipped an arm around each other's waist and then, side by side, twirled as one. "Practical. Also the other Leafless aren't distracted as much by my presence." Leafless was the nickname that the group of rejected suitors had taken for themselves, because most of them joked that they had wilted in permanent disappointment.

"It suits you," was all Amara could manage before their turn was over and they whirled away in opposite directions with new partners. 

Amara was sure that she had seen an answering spark in Daalia's eyes, and so her next move was to suggest to the tutors of the guest classes that she could assist the next time they needed to demonstrate an advanced topic. Soon enough she was before the Leafless. Careful to spread her glances among all the students, she hoped that Daalia would find an excuse to linger after class. 

To Amara's dismay, she did not.

It was not that Daalia was rude or disrespectful; no, she was unfailingly polite. She always accepted what Amara initiated — to converse, to dance during festivals, to walk together if they happened to meet going in the same direction — but she never spoke first, never extended an invitation, never ran to catch up with Amara if she saw her walking ahead. She acted, infuriatingly, like a deferential subject obeying her future queen.

> ~
> 
> What? Why was that bad? Well, Amara was accustomed to obedience, and certainly preferred it over indifference or rudeness, but she wanted more. She wanted what she had seen her parents display in their private moments, gentle teasing and wooing and affection. To her this was an essential part of the bond between ruling partners. 
> 
> ~

Was that the problem? Did Daalia think that such a love could not exist because they were not social equals? 

The more Amara thought about it, the more certain she was that this was so. It was one of the most painful things she had ever had to accept, almost as devastating as the realization that her parents were mortal, but she did. She reminded herself that she was a future queen, and queens did not, _could_ not, fall apart if their hearts were broken. They had to numb themselves and get over it and go on, because they had more important things to do than pine for girls they barely knew, girls whose love was not strong enough to declare itself.

Amara's anodyne for her pain was to bury herself in a new area of study, and she chose magic. Ancient texts claimed that if one's will was strong enough, if a powerful desire was pictured in the mind's eye with perfect clarity, that desire would become reality.

Now, a cynic may think that Amaryllis' intent in pursuing magic was to force Daalia to return her affection, but anyone who would think such a thing does not understand Amaryllis at all. The idea of gaining Daalia's love with sorcery would have been anathema to her. Not only was such coercion and its false compliance abhorrent in and of itself, love is impossible to distill to a single mental image. It is too complex, too ambiguous, too metamorphic. 

She did however, wish to make her heart indifferent to Daalia. 

Discovering that this was beyond her skill as a novice, she then focused on training herself to create fire magically, without tinder. It did take many weeks, but eventually she managed to summon sparks on a plank of wood, and then a small flame, and then learned how to snuff the flame out. From there she progressed to adding and subtracting water from a piece of cloth, heating and cooling a small disc of metal, and transferring pebbles from one bowl to another. She then applied all these lessons to disciplining her heart, imagining it still and empty, and began to go for days at a time without thinking of Daalia.

> ~
> 
> And now, for dramatic effect, let us travel forward a few years, to a room in the royal library on an unseasonably sunny Winterswane day. The librarian has opened several windows hoping that warm breezes will wander in and lift the chill from the room… 
> 
> ~

The library's deep cushioned window seats were an excellent place to sit and read, but also an ideal pretext for viewing the training area in the castle courtyard far below.

Princess Amara, her book opened but unread on her lap, ran a practiced eye over the figures in the courtyard, and quickly found her target. A woman in a sleeveless uniform was handing out staves to the recruits. Confident, well-muscled, she was almost unrecognizable as the meek stranger who had been thrown at their gates three years before. Except for her hair: her spiky, ridiculously unfashionable hair had not changed.

Amara gripped her book and, as she had so many times before, gathered up her anger and frustration and resolve and buried every other emotion, and wondered how long she would go on like this. Was she doomed to be tormented for the rest of her life? Last night had been especially bad. In the twilight moments before or after sleep, she had been flooded with longing, with the need to hold Daalia in her arms. In that instant she had once again been swept up into the storm of her thwarted love. Weeping, and hating herself for being weak, she had alternated between hugging her pillow and punching her mattress until, exhausted, she had finally, mercifully, fallen asleep.

There was a knock at the library door. 

Amara turned from the window to see Tyyne, the Greenkype healer who was her parents' caretaker. "We're running low on the potion," Tyyne said with a slight bow.

"I can't start another batch until I get more heart's-calm," Amara said. "What did the Arboretum say?"

Tyyne folded her hands. "The Abbedissa said that they have already harvested as many flowers as they could from the mature plants. They did start seedlings as soon as they verified your formulation, but — "

"I know, I know. The drawback of finding a new use for a neglected plant that takes years to bloom."

"One of the survey teams reported thickets of heart's-calm flowering in ravines west of the Matala lowlands," Tyyne said. "Knowing how crucial it is to your parent's health, I'm sure they have gathered as much as they were able?"

"Yes, and if they had they would have shipped it back here immediately. But as we've not received anything or heard from them for weeks, I assume they ran into Kaddic's forces."

Tyyne nodded. "I fear that as well."

"Well then." Amara put her book aside and stood. "As I see it, there's only one thing to do. Harvest enough heart's-calm from the Declines to last until the Arboretum's seedlings are ready."

"Agreed." Tyyne gasped. "Wait, you aren't thinking of going to the Declines yourself, are you?"

"And why not?" Amara said. She held out her hand, summoning a small flame. "I can defend myself. If any of Kaddic's brutes dare attack me, they'll find out that I am not just their equal, but their superior." She made a snatching gesture to dismiss the flame and added more softly, "Don't worry, Tyyne. I won't announce my presence by rumbling across open grassland with three noisy wagons the way the survey teams probably did. I'll stay out of sight, do some clandestine herbing, then hurry back."

"Your parents will die of grief if anything happens to you," Tyyne said. 

"My parents will die of their illness if we don't find heart's-calm," Amara said grimly, "but if it will make you feel better I'll take a Protector or two along."

.

.

##  _Part 2_

.

The sky was cloudless, the sun relentless, and the wisps of breeze stirring dead leaves in the training yard were bone-dry, but Daalia didn't mind at all. Hot or cold, she happily tolerated the Kyraxi weather: it was paradise compared to the overcast, oppressively humid miasma of the lowlands surrounding her birthplace of Pelkosuo. 

The Protector-General had asked Daalia and a few of the other Protectors-in-training a demonstration of quarterstaff technique to the first-year recruits. Daalia's demonstration partner today was Benwoldus, the blond from Vieras whom everyone called "Everguest" because from the time he arrived his excuse for every mistake had been "I'm not from here, I'm just visiting!" He and Daalia had never gotten along: her first offense had apparently been becoming fluent in Kyraxi much sooner than he did — despite arriving in Kyraxos almost a year later — and then continuing to be better than he was at a number of subjects. (It had occurred to Daalia more than once that Everguest would fit in very well with the followers of Kaddic.) After two years, once the most reasonable of Leafless had left to return to their various homes (one to marry a princess elsewhere), Daalia had dropped all but a few of her classes to focus on training as a Protector. 

Kyraxos was a kingdom at peace, both internally and with its nearest neighbors, so openings among the ranks of the Protectors were rare. Because of this, the competition was fierce. If you advanced far enough to be invested as a Protector of the Greenward, it announced to all that you were the best of the best.

Daalia was fiercer than anyone. She wasn't motivated by a thirst for glory, however: for her, it was all about her debt of gratitude to the Kyraxi royal family. They had taken her in without knowing the details of her life in Pelkosuo; without knowing it, they had saved her from misery and early death. They had treated her as if she deserved kindness and respect, as if she was intelligent enough to understand science, and perceptive enough to appreciate beauty. 

Her only taste thus far of what it would be like to be a Protector had been when she became part of a select group asked to supplement their ranks during a recent multi-nation diplomatic summit to discuss Kaddic. Daalia, one of a group of thirty along the wall behind the dais, had managed to position herself almost directly behind Amara's chair. She'd almost been disappointed no assassins had appeared, because she had been poised the entire time to throw herself in front of the princess.

The princess. Amaryllis. Amara. That was probably her at the open library window, high above. What was she doing up there? Taking the air? Daydreaming? Could she be watching the demonstration?

Just the sight of her, high above and safe from harm, made Daalia's heart soar — and then she noticed, just in time, that Everguest was taking advantage of her daydreaming to swing his quarterstaff at her knees.

She jumped, using the end of her staff to give him a gentle push in his midsection — a gentle push that nevertheless knocked him off his feet.

He glared up at her and ignored her outstretched hand, choosing instead to roll onto his hands and knees and crawl away to the hoots of the yard.

She glanced up again at the window. The princess was gone.

With the demonstration over, a few of the bolder recruits approached Daalia and asked her if she'd like to join them for brown ale at Red Bucket Nan's.

Daalia shook her head as she slung a towel around her beck and began to gather up the practice weapons. "Some other time, lads," she said. "I'm on the roster today."

As the recruits sauntered off Daalia saw the First and Second making their way over to her. She quickly stowed the staves and wooden swords, tossed the towel behind a barrel, then stood at attention. 

"Are you familiar with the area known as the Declines, that border Matala Basin?" Second asked without preamble.

Daalia's stomach twisted with dread. Matala? Were they going to send her back to Pelkosuo? "I am."

"We thought so." A group of chattering recruits passed; when they were out of earshot Second continued. "The details of what you are about to hear are not to be discussed with anyone except First and myself. Is that clear?"

Now Daalia's heart began to pound. Such secrecy meant an important assignment. "Yes."

"You and Varma are charged with guiding and protecting —" Second glanced at First"— an apothecary who needs to gather a rare medicinal plant from the Declines. Harvesting a substantial quantity of this plant is vital for the continued health of the royal family. Your primary responsibility — your _sole_ responsibility — is to do whatever is necessary to protect the apothecary and their harvest. Do so while calling minimal attention to yourself. Avoid hostile forces. What you cannot avoid, incapacitate."

First then added, "If there are too many to incapacitate, one of you must avoid capture and ensure the return of the apothecary and the materials they have collected."

Daalia understood this to mean that she or Varma might need to stay behind and fight so that the other could escape with the apothecary. She nodded firmly. "I understand."

"Wear civilian clothing for departure, but pack your dappled armor," Second said, and handed her a list. "The following items will be provided to you after you've exited the East Gate. Report there as soon as you are ready. Transport to Reese Tersh has been arranged; you'll approach the Declines on foot."

Clear now on the importance of the assignment, Daalia hurried to the barracks, on the way meeting up with Varma. A compactly-built weaver's son, Varma was an ideal partner for this assignment. He was skilled in forestcraft, never panicked or complained, and was an excellent wilderness cook. After a quick review of the weapons and incapacitants Second had requisitioned, they discussed what additional equipment and supplies they needed to bring. They decided that both of them would bring rope, firestarting materials, and healer kits in addition to their dappled armor, while Varma would bring cooking supplies and Daalia would bring two laundry sacks to carry the harvested herbs. "And an extra bedroll for the apothecary," she said.

Varma snorted softly. "Apothecary," he said, but didn't explain more.

Daalia and Varma hadn't been waiting long on the road before a battered wagon drawn by a team of oxdogs came through the gate. 

The driver, an elderly woman smoking a long-necked pipe, brought her team to a stop and eyed Daalia and Varma. "Reese Toosh?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you," Daalia said. She and Varma climbed in the back.

There was a passenger in the back of the wagon, huddled down between a huge rolled bale of straw and a tall basket with shoulder straps. They were wrapped in a heavy, moth-eaten cloak that hid their hair and face, but as Daalia settled herself in the wagon the figure's head snapped up as if startled.

In that instant Daalia recognized the dark eyes of the princess, wide with the shock of recognition.

Weak-kneed, Daalia eased herself to a sitting position in the wagon, and clasped her shaking hands to still them as the princess pulled her hood down over her face and curled on her side.

Varma, who apparently did not recognize the princess from the brief glimpse, looked questioningly at Daalia and mouthed _Apothecary?_

Numb, Daalia nodded.

Varma spread his scarf over the floorboard and took out a deck of cards; Daalia forced herself to play until it got dark, while Amara pretended to sleep.

> ~
> 
> Scholars are divided on whether Amara had specifically requested Daalia for the mission, or whether First and Second had made the choice to include Daalia based on her presumed knowledge of the terrain surrounding her childhood home. 
> 
> Personally, I believe the latter.
> 
> At any rate, the mission was overall a success, and they returned several days later with three great bundles of heart's-calm. We know very little of what else transpired during this trip, other than that Varma's leg was severely injured.
> 
> By their own admission, at the time neither had yet fully disclosed their feelings to each other, and were instead content to continue inhabiting — or should we say hiding behind? — the roles of subject and sovereign. No matter how demanding Amara became, Daalia served, uncomplainingly. 
> 
> ~

.

.

##  _Part 3_

_._

Queen Amara took her seat at the head of the table, nodding to the members of her council of advisors. 

"So," she said without preamble, "we are at war?" It was not unexpected: Kaddic's forces had been pushing outward from the Matala Basin for a number of years.

Protector-General Daalia nodded. "Kaddiswali forces torched three northern keeps. Scouts say that they have upwards of a thousand on the roads toward the capitol."

"Only a thousand?" The Councilor of Education looked worried. "Surprisingly small for a conquest. How accurate is that number, Protector-General?"

"It represents what could be easily counted," Daalia said with her usual calm. "Likely there are more moving through the cover of the forests."

"But you're not sure?"

"One is never sure of what is hidden until it comes out of hiding," Daalia said. She and Amara locked eyes briefly, and then both looked away.

To all appearances, over the years their relationship had remained that of subject and sovereign, although Amara had steadfastly refused to marry any of the constant stream of royal suitors from other kingdoms. She was, some felt, fated to be a second Ruaha, a virgin queen during a troubled time — although, unlike Ruaha, she was a sorceress-healer, not a warrior.

"How long until they reach us?" Amara asked.

"If they were to continue unchecked, they would reach the capital in two weeks," Daalia said. "They will not continue unchecked; I have already sent three hundred mounted against them."

"Only three hundred?" the Keeper of the Treasury asked.

"Mounted and armored protectors against unarmored, undisciplined infantry?" Daalia replied. "It will be sufficient. The protectors are also evacuating villages in the enemy's path."

Abbedissa Vehmas spoke next. "We have already dispatched a contingent of taitaja and rebuilders to mend the wounded."

"Why didn't the Kaddiswali attack from the east?" Councilor Nalan asked thoughtfully. "Why go all the way around to the north?"

"We expect them to attack from the east as well," Amara said, "or, rather, the Protector-General expects them to." 

"We have been analyzing Kaddic's strategies for a number of years," Daalia said. "His usual approach is to first strain his target's resources by division and over-extension, then, by earning small victories in each quadrant, take advantage of the subsequent confusion and demoralization to capture a lightly-defended capital."

"If we know that's what he's going to do, shouldn't we mass everything in a defense of _our_ capital?" someone asked.

"Not at first," Daalia said. "First we will let Kaddic think he has succeeded in drawing us out, and in cutting down or scaring off a substantial portion of each attack force we send against him. His troops generally move fast, even on foot, and rarely bother with rear scouts, so it won't occur to him that the missing Kyraxi have fallen back in order to flank him once they reach the capital."

"And it's entirely possible that we might discourage him entirely before he reaches the capital," Amara said. "Divide and conquer. Either way, it's a brilliant plan." She rewarded Daalia with a small smile.

The Protector-General gave a small, stiff bow of acknowledgement.

"What if he has spies among our protectors or soldiers?" Councilor Perlargonium asked, then added reluctantly. "The males."

Daalia nodded once. "We have long considered that possibility, and compensated for it." She did not provide details.

"So we're going to be engaging the enemy in the north, south, and east, and then fighting around the capital itself?" Kepu, the Councillor of Agriculture, was still young enough to tend to over-zealousness. "How will we retain enough reserves to tend to our people after the war?"

The Abbedissa folded her hands and regarded him for a moment before replying. "We will do what we can."

"That's not good enough!" Kepu said, slapping the table. "What happens if we run out?"

This was the perennial problem. Kasvisto had bestowed nine thousand gifts to the Kyraxi, the abundant and varied flora of the Great Forest, and Rohto had shown the people how to use those gifts, but many of the plants most useful for healing were rare, temperamental, or slow-growing. Once used to dress a wound, or soaked to prepare a tincture or infusion, they were, like a bloody bandage, of no further use and had to be discarded.

"Enough," Amara said sharply. "The Greenkype's healers and resources are as pledged to the defense of Kyraxos as the rest of us, but they cannot be able to provide what they do not have to give. None of us can. No matter how much we may wish it otherwise."

.

As expected, a second, fast-moving Kaddiswali force of mounted soldiers rode in from the south, while a much smaller force with small wheeled catapults and wagons of dung-ball rumbled in from the east…

And then, as was not quite expected, the northern attack force split, and sent a third of its troops in a long loop to the northwest, destroying everything in their path.

Rather than demoralize the Kyraxi, this galvanized them. Ordinary citizens converged by the thousands on the capital to defend it, while the Protectors and the army pursued and eradicated the northern and southern attackers.

.

In the end, the Kaddiswali had one final barbarity to inflict.

The siege against the capital seemed almost humorously ineffective at first; the "bombs" that arced over the walls of the city and smashed open in the streets were baked balls of mud and excrement. The foul-smelling swamp gas they contained was thought, at first, to be little more than a nuisance. The flatulence of rude boys. 

It was not until the third day of the siege that the men of Kyraxos began to die.

.

"Here, bring her here!" came the shouts.

The stretcher bearers rushed to an open spot among the sea of wounded, and carefully laid down Protector-General Daalia. Daalia's armor was dyed scarlet with her blood, a grievous wound across her midsection having sliced her nearly in two.

Frantically, the Abbedissa and Queen Amara applied great handfuls of oxtail and burjar, oblivionflower and moonglow lichen — with nearly half the population dead or dying there was no longer any question of running out of healing supplies — but it was no good. Daalia was ebbing fast.

"Amara," she whispered.

"I'm here,'' Amara said, clasping her hand, uncaring of the tears that streamed down her face. "I will not leave you."

"But I must, it seems, leave you," Daalia said weakly, then gave a cough that made gouts of blood pulse sluggishly from her wounds.

"Don't waste breath talking," Amara begged. "I command you, rest."

Daalia opened her eyes. "Not yet. I cannot go into Rohto's realm without knowing the answer… Amaryllis of Kyraxos, will you marry me?"

"Of course," Amara said, sobbing, "Of course I will, my love. My dearest love." She reached into the baskets, desperate to stop the bleeding, to mend the wounds, to keep Daalia with her.

"Then I die content," Daalia whispered, and closed her eyes.

> ~
> 
> Multiple eyewitnesses confirmed what happened next.
> 
> ~

Queen Amara, her hands still full of healing plants, threw back her head and gave an agonized wail, calling on Kasvisto and Rohto and all the spirits of the land, begging them to save the one she loved. 

A brilliant green light rose up from the ground, wrapping Amara's form in what looked like emerald lightning. When it reached her hands, Amara threw the lightning across Daalia's body, wrapping the protector in a net of green light.

"Come back," Amara demanded. "Come back and be my wife, you coward!"

And then, as Daalia's flesh began to flow together and mend itself, a great circle of light exploded outward, rippling through the entire city, healing every wounded woman it touched. (Alas, it could not save the men from the Kaddiswali plague.)

As the light faded Amara collapsed, the herbs in her hands as fresh and untouched as the day they were picked.

Queen Amaryllis and Protector-General Daalia were married a month later. 

> ~
> 
> The disease that Kaddic dispersed among us, the poison that still lurks in our air and soil and keeps us a nation of women, is seen by some as a tragedy and a curse. What these outsiders do not see, however, is that in trying to destroy us Kaddic only made us stronger. He thought that without men we would be so weakened that we would have no recourse but to beg for his protection. 
> 
> He was wrong. The principles that the goddess Rohto revealed to Queen Amara that day made us the most powerful healers of any nation (as well as ensuring that we never again had to ration Kasvisto's gifts). We found a way, and made it our own.
> 
> Oh, Queen Amara and Queen Daalia? They had a long, peaceful reign, and passed the throne on to their eldest daughter, one of several Kaddiswali girls they rescued and adopted. 
> 
> ~

The balcony of their private chambers in the castle faced the rising sun, and was shaded from noon on, so by sunset its stones had lost all their morning's warmth. It also offered the best view in the kingdom, so, despite the chill, Daalia and Amara walked there in the evenings, even if they had to bring a blanket to wrap themselves in. 

They would stand at the railing or sit on the stone bench with their arms around each other, looking out over the twinkling lights of the capital and the expanse of the great forest, and count themselves blessed; and whenever the treetops undulated like the swells of a dark green sea beneath a strong evening breeze, Amara would stroke Daalia's gray hair and whisper, "My dandelion."

_._

_._

_~ The End ~_

_._

_._

_ ©2020 revised 14 Nov 2020_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to **talkingtothesky** for beta, to **Mipeltaja** for linguistic assistance, to **Stinger** for military strategy, and to **roguefaerie** for early encouragement.
> 
> I came across the traditional ballad [An Páistin Fionn](https://youtu.be/xvH8BV2bRWM) not long before seeing this pinch hit. Both the tone and the lyrics — of love, longing, and loyalty — were an inspiration, especially the lines that open the song and are repeated in the chorus: 
> 
> _Is tusa mo rún, mo rún, mo rún / Is tusa mo rún is mo ghrá gheal_  
>  (which can be translated as: _You are my secret, secret, secret / you are my secret fair love)_  
>  _You are my delight, and my comfort all night / and I'll wrap you up tight in my arms._
> 
> I also smiled at the singer's vow that their lips have touched nothing other than _the glass that I drank to the health of my queen_. 
> 
> Anyhow, it's a lovely song full of pining: go listen to it!


End file.
